The Moment We Became Infinite
by IzzyandDesRoxSox
Summary: "We accept the love we think we deserve." — A spin on the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" through the Dream Warriors, with the events narrated in the eyes of Joey. Minor AU pre-ANOES 3 and so on may become majorly AU. May be OOC at times. Eventual Joey/Sheila and Taryn/Kincaid, plus others.


**Title:** The Moment We Became Infinite

**Summary:** "We accept the love we think we deserve." — A spin on the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" through the Dream Warriors, with the events narrated in the eyes of Joey. Minor AU pre-ANOES 3 and so on may become majorly AU. May be OOC at times.

**Ships:** Slow paced Joey/Sheila, eventual Kincaid/Taryn and implied Rick/Kristen. Maybe eventual others. Also includes Kincaid/Joey friendship, one sided Joey/Taryn otherwise mainly friendship.

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:** I own nothing of neither concepts. Oh, I'd just like to say from a personal experience, I _strongly_ recommend you read the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower". Honest to God, this is such a life changing story and if not, at least very memorable.

***I'm ignoring the characterization of Joey in Dream Masters. I much prefer this quiet, mysterious, but good hearted persona in the previous film rather than the cocky pervert he was in the fourth film.***

* * *

**x x x**

_Joey's Point of View_

_One Year Before 'Dream Warriors'_

**x x x**

"Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn't stop for anybody."

_-"The Perks of Being a Wallflower"_

**x x x**

* * *

Given I meet every part in the criteria, I can officially be categorized as a freak.

Not that that bothers me much.

There's supposed to be three kinds of people. The first are the people out there in the world that are only bothered by the littlest impurities in their lives, there are those indifferent to every situation, and then are those who care about every details, big or small.

I suppose the definition of normality starts with people of those three kinds, so anything or anyone not like that is not only not normal, but not a person either.

That doesn't bother me much either, in fact, I don't really care what others have to say.

I think what bothers me though is that could be automatically your first impression. Way before looks and way before your own personality and actions, but by another's word then someone else apparently knows who you are. What everyone else thinks is what matters, it's like you have to work not only for the grades in school, but you have to work to impress and prove yourself to others you will probably never see again in your entire life.

It's ridiculous— but then again, it's high school.

I suppose this first impression isn't much of an improvement than one you could've heard from other people. Here, I'll try and fix that now. I'll give you a proper introduction, at least one that I think could be called one, and the three most important things about me.

My name is Joey Crusel. I won't give you a big physical description because honestly, I don't think that should matter in an introduction, nor would you care much anyways. To be honest, I don't think I'm outrageously handsome like the impossibly perfect looking celebrities in my mom's magazines she obsesses over, but then again I do have some self confidence and think I'm okay looking. What should it matter if I've got dark brown hair styled in some kind of 'bad boy' look or baby blue eyes that 'show I have a soft side'.

It isn't as though I've got three eyes, purple hair, or six green, monster clawed arms. Even if I did, so what? That shouldn't be important, so it isn't. I don't think looks are very important.

You are a nameless journal that I don't think I'm ever going to name. Perhaps I should and someday might, because I get lost in moments sometimes and mistake you for a person. See sometimes when I write whatever words I'm writing I manage to trick myself into thinking I'm actually saying them out loud to you, a supposedly real person. I guess that accomplishes the goal my mother had when she bought you for me on my fourteenth birthday. But for a while, I left you untouched, not because of that immature idea of 'It's a diary and those are for girls!', but because I didn't know what to write. I didn't really know what to say.

That's right, I actually get nervous about having fake conversations with an _inanimate object_.

Which brings to important fact number one; I am socially awkward to a point where it's impossible to describe an actual level.

Important fact number one brings me straight to important fact number two also— I wasn't always like that.

It all started because of one small event. When someone says that one second is all it takes to change your life forever, it's no lie. There's some kind of powerful, unfair math in the world that gives the bad things in life an advantage where they only need one second to take away thirteen and three quarters years worth of the good things.

At age thirteen and three quarters, I didn't realize what I had until I would lost it. Up until then, life had been pretty good for me. I did excellent in school, constantly achieving high scores in grades, I had a pretty large number of friends, and girls were easy to talk to. Hell, everyone was easy to talk to. I seemed to be so good at it that I was even voted as the class debater and enjoyed it.

Then I lost my father and my older brother from a car accident because in one second, on a day or date I can't even remember, some guys' friends turned away while he got in their pick-up truck and drove away just for the "ha ha's".

My mother and I sure weren't laughing much when the kind but stone faced police officer showed up at our door at nearly eleven at night to tell her that the love of her life and her first born child were both dead before there was ever a chance for any hospital or doctor to save them.

You ever heard of crying yourself to near death? As if hoping those tears will wash away those memories until you can remember no more. Unintentionally, I think I did that to myself because when I look back, I feel nothing but absolute emptiness. It isn't as though I'm not upset, because I am and always will be, but it's like I cried up all the tears I could possibly cry. Or maybe subconsciously a part of my father lives on in my mind, lecturing at me since after his funeral that was my only excuse to cry as excessively as I did.

_'For your own sake kiddo, man up. Cry now because that's the time you can, but never again. You hear me? I don't ever want to see another tear stream down your face again or I'll give you a reason to be upset.'_ I could imagine him saying. Not in any kind of mean or abusive way, but just because that's how he had always raised me and Tony. Tony was my brother, Anthony Crusel to be precise. He was the one who seemed to outdo me in almost everything, whether it be sports or impressing our dad, so I always thought when my dad told me things like that it was because he loved Tony more. I guess he did, but I can't quite be too sure. That was the thing about my dad, he stood out in that way like every member of our family did; Mom was a homemaker with faraway dreams gone with the dust, Tony was the excessively perfect athlete, I was the laid back but intelligent socializer, and Dad was the stern guy with a mindset almost impossible to read or predict.

Maybe I started to take after him after he died though, at least in the eyes of others.

I was distant to the rest of the world afterwards. Very lost and secluded. I remember missing school for a whole two weeks straight, doing nothing but just curling up in the blankets in my dark room with maybe the occasional flicker of the T.V to see what was on or re-reading another old issue of one of my comics from when I was a kid. Mom, when she was sober— because alcohol became her new husband after Dad died— would remember me and bring up food and leave it for me. I hardly touched any of that stuff anyways except maybe breakfast or a cold pizza later for dinner.

But going back to school was worse. Worse than even dreading about it the day before, because why even bother doing that with a numb mind and it not being in your face? But when it's actually there in that moment, and you _have_ to think, you _have_ to feel, smile, cry, and be human again. It— it felt so overwhelming.

I went back anyways and discovered I was a pretty good actor, because that's what I did. Everything I didn't want to do I did anyways, and everyone seemed to just buy it. Whatever I was doing, I seemed to be doing a good job.

Not to say I was in good shape though.

My mind would blank out sometimes, and apparently right in the middle of Spanish class I even broke down once for no reason because one kid in my class, Phillip Anderson I think, asked if it mattered whether you say father in Spanish as either _papa _or _padre._ Right then and there I just seemed to lose it, and I had to be taken out of the room and escorted to the nurse. They sent me home early and when I returned the next day, Phillip looked devastatedly guilty, but did not approach me. I think he didn't know what to say, which is fine, it's not like he meant any of it on purpose. Besides, what could he say anyways? I don't know what I would've said had it been vice versa.

Then it hit me in that moment— I _didn't_ know what I would've said. That's because I wouldn't have understood, felt the pain that he felt as I did.

_Nobody_ really understood. I'm not trying to put it across in any rude way, but that really is more or less a fact. The whole reason some people in the world share such unique bonds is because they went through the same kind of personal journey together. They knew how the other felt and understood what they meant to say, they could totally relate to how the other acted.

All these people surrounding me could more or less move on with their lives, because everything was just the same for them. Not perfect though, never perfect. Not just because it isn't, but because I literally can't write down and say another person has it better since my father always used to tell me _'There are kids just like you Joseph, they act just like you. They complain about what they have or what they don't have. But you know what? Their stories are different- some of them don't have a home to go to or don't know when their next meal is.'_

What's better to say is that all these other people led very different lives from mine. When they look me in the eye and give me their sympathy, an "_I'm sorry_", they say that only because they are. They have sympathy but not empathy. I was starved for empathy, just for someone to talk to. Maybe not even talk, maybe they didn't even have to say anything if they didn't want to, that was fine with me. But someone who would just listen, someone who wanted to listen, listen in a way like they've heard this story before— because it's theirs too. So whenever I had a problem, I wouldn't have to face it on my own. They could help me.

But they couldn't.

I won't burden my mother with me either. We hardly speak much anymore either, in fact I hardly ever see her around. She hasn't abandoned me or anything, she just either stays away in a bar all day or maybe locks herself in her room to deal with a hangover (by drinking). She feels better when alcohol sweeps her off her feet for a while. That's okay with me though, my mom is actually really nice when she's drunk. Not that she isn't when she's sober, but alcohol reminds her how to laugh and act all silly, and it's much better to laugh until you cry than just cry overall.

I can't remember the last time we ever shared a laugh together either though. We haven't sat down and had a proper meal together in so long. I usually order something or make food myself for the both of us, and I just bring her food to her bedroom or leave it in the fridge.

Over time, my friends left when they gave up trying to reach out to me, especially when I declined or gave an excuse to not want to hang out. Those 'sick days' weren't cutting it for them anymore, but it wasn't like I wanted to go prank call someone or chain smoke like they always wanted to do these days.

The whole debate team just gradually went away, like when a little kid who is afraid of a monster in the dark of their dreams closes their eyes and wishes it away. I wanted to quit, but I didn't, although the teachers could tell and had me 'honorably resign'.

Guess you really should be careful when someone warns you to be careful what you wish for. I wanted nobody around because nobody could understand me anyways, so I got exactly that.

That's also kind of how I earned the social status of being a freak. Going from a considerably popular guy who had lot's of good things going to a loner freak who almost never says much of a peep.

And in doing so for that one year and a quarter of my life, you, in the meanwhile, remained untouched, buried in piles of other papers on my desk, collecting a bit of dust.

I'm glad I found you though. At least now there is somebody who'll listen, who won't even respond anyways, but just listen as I go on until I get tired.

Which brings me to important fact number three, more or less a warning too at that; I may be socially awkward and say little to nothing to people, but that doesn't much I don't have much to say. I mean, it's not that I always do, but I just have a lot on my mind. I can't promise picture perfect English structure or some correct chronological order on events of my life. Hell, I'm in no shape to make promises of any kind at all.

But I can tell you three things; One, I do have a story to tell, it's about my life, and it's a work in progress as it goes. Two, I think I might be able to convince an inanimate object like you to understand me, so in some way that'll help me out.

And three, despite everything, there actually are some perks to my life.

**x x x**

* * *

**Well, ta da! What do you think? It's not much of an introduction, I know, but please give it a chance. Soon others will come along, and I mean very soon, and things'll get interesting.**

**I guess a fair warning to say is that it'll be a bit of a while before Freddy officially shows up. I know that this **_**is**_** A Nightmare on Elm Street and its spin on "The Perks of Being a Wallflower", but I don't just want to throw him right in the immediate early chapters. (Don't worry, there'll be plenty of foreshadowing as we progress to his first appearance) I want to try and write a fic for once where it's centric on the Dream Warriors and an AU life of theirs. We never really see kinds of stories like that around here unfortunately. The only other stories besides the legit horror ones seem to be Mary Sue romances. |:/**

**Please, please, please give this chance! I promise this'll be better than you expect it to be!**


End file.
